


Under Fireworks

by eremoose



Category: London Spy, LondonSpy
Genre: (in chapter3), Angst, Blood, Christmas, Death, Disagreement, M/M, New Year's Celebrations, New Year's Eve, Party, a bit - Freeform, angst but it gets happier around chapter 4, argument, chapter 4 is so soon, cute stuf happens, gun ment, i have a plan, im so excited, lazy writer, mild violence, new years day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eremoose/pseuds/eremoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic carries on from ep5 and will explore characters and clues TRS decided not to mention again(I hope it was for some greater purpose). Danny is becoming more clued in and this fic is likely to take a 'Q's Backstory' type turn at some point but I haven't decided when or if it's even definite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Golden Autumn

The deep-sea blue of the night faded slowly into the rare orange beams of dawn, breaking through trees like golden rain, frozen in time. Danny hummed with the car as it glided effortlessly along the bumpy roads of rural Southern-England.  
"I've never seen your house before. You've seen mine, slept in it, eaten my food but you never invited me round." Frances' frail voice popped Danny's bubble.  
"I guess not. You wouldn't've come round even if I invited you though, would you?" He replied, tired and just as frail.  
"No." a sigh "I would not."

"I used to like to make breakfast when it was me and Alex, you don't mind do you?" Danny asked, swinging a pan of bacon from the cooker to the kitchen work-top. He tilted it towards Frances, "Help yourself."  
"I wondered if you'd ever forgive me for what I did. If you'd think it was a choice or you'd realise that there was no choice, no getting out of it. It was a predetermined story which you were unlucky enough to have been forced into." Frances stated, not touching the bacon. She repositioned her plate and cutlery, just as Alex had done. "Alistair-"  
"Alex." Interrupted Danny, sternly. He gave Frances a clear look of warning over his shoulder as he stirred a pan of mushrooms and a pot of beans simultaneously.  
"Alex was no more deserving of his treatment than anyone else might have been and I promise you we-"  
Danny's fists and mouth tightened, his legs stiffened and he found himself suddenly talking over her. "No, he wasn't deserving of it. Don't apologise. You don't get to. You got in my car knowing how vulnerable I was, having just been told that the woman who was supposed to look after him was his killer. You don't get to feel better. I accept that you went into it unknowingly, I accept that you couldn't do anything at the end but there was so much time in the middle where you could have..." He cupped his face in his hands, the tips of his fingers edging into that black mop. "I'm just saying you could have done something in between those times."

Many days had passed and the last days of autumn had met their end. Danny woke up to a frosted window, white specs built up over the trees around him in a snow globe-esque fashion and caught his gaze for a long moment. He put on his favourite jumper, crimson like christmas, and skipped down the stairs. "Good morning, Frances!" he tore through the house like an excited toddler and chuckled "Christmas has come early this year."  
"It has indeed!" Frances replied, her hands shook with cold despite having turned on the gas fireplace. "Carollers a plenty?"  
"Scottie never got any, but these are quiet roads so I'm not shocked."  
"Shame." retorted Frances, though secretly relived.

Frances grew weaker every day though did her best to hide it. Pain flowed freely through her hands and invaded her joints. Picking things up was becoming a chore and she became tired easily, though because Danny had never asked wether she needed painkillers or any help at all she concluded that either she was a good actress or he just didn't care. Not that she minded. She was often taken aback by how forgiving he had been. They were running from the law, from everyone but where was the stress? It had occurred to Mrs. Turner that the reason her son and Danny had felt so much for each other was that they were both easily forgiving and both very lonely. She had forgotten to pack a thick pair of boots and as it was winter the cold was enough to petrify a person; nevertheless the woman who was convinced she was dying ventured into the bleak garden and began to pick rosebud cherries from trees lining the perimeter.

Hearing footsteps, she smiled and while continuing to concentrate on the cherries asked "Have you ever had a christmas before? I have not. Charles never enjoyed a family christmas very much so I hope I do you proud." she searched through the branches and picked the highest cherries she could reach, practically on her tippy-toes. "Did you know he grew them? Some of the branches are plaited, he must have loved them, yes?"  
An american voice boomed, "They're certainly special."

 


	2. Lullaby Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are told who the American man is, Frances is not happy with the American man and Danny is his adorable yet deviant self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't be bothered ending this on a real cliffhanger because I haven't updated it in a long while. The next chapter will be much better I promise!

"You were meant to leave. I told you to never come back. I swear Thimba... This is uncalled for and I strongly wish that you leave." Frances was calm but stepped back from the spot she had heard the voice come from. She felt fear like she had never felt before and shrunk into herself remaining frozen like that for many moments.  
"I'm looking after him, isn't that what you asked? And since when are we on a first-name-basis? Tut tut, Frances Turner, I really thought you'd become less cowardly but it seems I was wrong." The american man stepped from the foliage before her, seeming to check something as he stepped out but it was disregarded immediately.  
Frances' mouth shook with fright and with cold, she tried to speak but only strangled, stunted sounds came out like a log snapping as people walked along it.  
"You're really that surprised?" Thimba advanced, passing a tree from which his grey cotton glove-clad hands stole a cherry, and made it dance between his fingers. "They're truly lovely aren't they? The only fruit you can get in the winter, so pearlescent, so... juicy." He bit in almost tauntingly, making sure Frances could see him.  
"You'd better leave." Frances forced, the words were harsh on her throat and scratched her frail voice. "Danny..."  
"Is near no window, I assure you, he is warm and distracted."  
Frances made a sudden movement toward Thimba "You dare hurt him I swear I'll-"  
There was the distinctive click of a gun behind Frances' head and she stopped dead in her tracks.  
"You'll what? Feel an emotion? I doubt it. I doubt it very much." Thimba signalled for the gun to be lowered.  
"You cad." Frances whispered, her eyes squinted and jaw clenched, her hands were visibly shaking now - a side-effect.  
"Name-calling? Now, now. I only want to warn you." he paused "I've left a present where you told him." a wave of the hand was followed by heavy footsteps distancing themselves from the pair. Thimba once more picked a cherry, this time from Frances' hands. He held it up in front of her for a moment before eating it. "Do you know how delicate your situation is?"  
Frances stared, wide-eyed now.  
"I'll put it this way: what's a tortoise without its shell?"  
A shroud of rustling leaves meant the dissipation of many more onlookers, many held long sticks resembling guns, others wore only binoculars while some had nothing at all.

"Are you alright?" Danny shivered as he walked down the stairs carrying laundry. "You must have been out there for a while."  
Frances looked at him from the hallway, eyes glassy and watering. "Yes, I'm fine. I needed to spend a longer time on my cherries than I had imagined, otherwise I'd have done it yesterday, that's all. Thanks for the.." she gestured toward the bundle of clothing in Danny's hands.  
"It's fine." He was quiet. Danny looked down, seemingly angry but trying his best to hide it. His eyes hid behind the mop of hair beginning to resemble the style he wore as a teen.  
"Are you alright?" Frances asked, coldly, not at all like her son.  
"Yes." He pushed past her, a little too forcefully for it to have been normal. "I just... I got some news this morning and I'd rather not think about it."  
She wasn't one to ask, but Frances felt herself need to anyway. "What was the news?"  
"Nothing."  
"Yes?"  
"Yes." Danny forced a hand into his pocket, feeling for something. "Did anyone come to visit this morning?"  
"No, why do you ask?" Frances sat down in the hallway chair. Remembering the sanctity of the chair to Scottie, Danny cringed but let it slide.  
"I saw some people on the road when I got up. Didn't seem too friendly, neither. Never mind, maybe they were trying to find some of Scottie's old stuff. Do you mind if I have a look round to see what's been taken?"  
A face of pure indifference met his eye, for the first time since she had moved in with him.

Danny looked around the grounds, noticing the footprints of the men who had surrounded Danny, he pondered on where the present was. Perhaps it wasn't in the house, perhaps it was amongst the trees. But what was it? And what was told? Danny had said many things to Scottie in the time they had been friends. He tore on through the grounds and as he approached the house he found a valentines day card stapled to a letter, both addressed to him peaking out from beneath a crumbling pile of flower pots.  
  
"Dearest Danny,  
  
"I write this separately to the note you'll read when you find my body.  
What they said was a lie. Whatever it was I'm sure it was designed for you to doubt yourself, it would be written in my handwriting and designed to make you forget about Alex and think all those stupid things again. Please do not. You matter, Daniel Edward Holt, you've always mattered to me.  
  
"I am not a brave man, I have never been. I have done much worse than I hope you ever find out. I have relied on you time and time again, there are ten times I used you for every one time that you ever told me something. (I hope you recognise that this is a fairly large number of times). I was cruel. I was unfair. I sold you out.

"I was at work, one day, going about my usual business when I was approached by a pair of men in suits who told me they were to escort me to the division director's office. I had no choice but to go with them. Once there I was made to sit down, given a coffee and had a conversation with a charming man who was most likely there to make me comfortable. You must understand that this was not how I felt at the time.  
The director entered the room and at once everything became quiet, the man left and so too did the pair who had escorted me there. He made no fuss, he did not beat about the bush. He asked me about you. He said that he knew we had some form of relationship and I was made to clarify that it was a close friendship. We had a strong bond but as you know despite my feelings towards you that was all there was.  
The director knew me, even though we had never met he knew my life and he knew what buttons to press. He told me that if i did not spy on you that he would kill you. If I did not report back then he would harm you. He said that at the end of it all I would get you back. Now, I am not one to trust a spy but a life with a little less than average privacy is still a life I believe to be worth living for any length of time, especially when the alternative is something unthinkable.  
I was not told what details I was to share, only to spare nothing. They told me that if I ever heard about an 'Alistair' I was to tell them. Everything. It worried me, I was concerned with what you had gotten yourself into this time and wether I would be able to help. All I could tell was that it was terrifying and it was massive.

"I told them about the escapades you had told me about, you and this Alex fellow who was originally a Joe. They couldn't have cared less about him. They just wanted an Alistair and became quickly infuriated when I told him that you hadn't mentioned one. I was to keep a closer watch, a task not made easy by you pushing me away. I understand you found someone but even as your friend that wasn't something you just do.

"Eventually they stated to listen to tales about Alex and told me about how interested they had become in this banker extraordinaire with his boring work and early entry into university. They were fascinated and I think I told them so much because they were finally getting off my back and I had even had a pay rise.

"Over the past year or so i have still made regular updates and by the time we were told the jokes about the spy agencies I realised what was happening. Well, in essence. However, it was too late. I had less chance to escape then as I had in the beginning. I was the mole. That's why they killed me. I wasn't strong enough to keep lying to you. You were the only man I had ever loved who hadn't died or betrayed me on purpose.

"I met the man you did, and at about the same time apparently, the American. It was a few weeks before you told me for the first time that you had been threatened. He  rapped on my door and confident as you like gave me a beautifully ornate Japanese lullaby box and told me to treasure it, it was a present. I was unsure about why so I put it in the loft. It wasn't until I had properly read the newspaper article about artefacts in Alex's attic that I was scared. I hadn't even thought to open it until then. Inside was the business card I have enclosed in this letter, some liquid gold and a little crack both of which I have disposed of. The clean lullaby box is now in my prayer room and I hope you find it soon.

"Daniel Edward holt I do love you. I love you with all me heart. So do not forgive me and do not love me back. I am not the man you wanted me to be nor am I the man I thought I would be. You must leave the house, leave everything behind and run because you are dead. Right now you are a dead man walking and you will not be forgotten about any time soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll publish the next chapter in about a week's time, I have got a plan though and I can promise you the writing gets a bit better!


	3. A driver and his game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny is not well and we(briefley) meet someone we've missed for a long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been read through honestly it's taken me too long to even write this chapter and I'm sorry if there are lots of mistakes I am a terribly inconsistent person and I really don't want to mess this fic up

"You need to leave." Danny's hedonistic tendencies were not spared as he raced into the kitchen, though his demeanour was not without change; his eyes were filled with fear and his hands shook as he pulled them up to his face and crouched into the foetal position. "What have we done?" He sobbed. "We can't finish this. We can't."  
Frances stood where she was, unable to say a word and instead continued to wash the cherries.  
Danny began to rock back and forth on the floor. Tears streamed down his face and soaked his fringe which stuck to his forehead and cheeks like a wet towel.  
Eventually, Frances realised he needed help to stop. She put a hand on Danny's back and rubbed between his shoulder blades dubiously. She never had this problem with Alex. She never had to help him stop crying. She told him to stop and that was it. But Danny, he'd always had Scottie or Sara or Pavel there to help him when he was upset. Now he had, essentially, no one.  
"Frances, is Alex still alive?" His head lifted and brows lowered, eyes squinting. He did not lean into France's touch rather away from it. She did not answer, just stopped.  
"I shouldn't expect you to understand." Her tone was deeply undignified, yet her voice shook with age something seeming somewhat like worry. France's thin, veiny hand retreated to her side but not before pulling Danny up like a mother bringing her stroppy toddler to attention.  
Danny's eyes were wide and  fearful, he stared at her in her dull grey eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to analyse whatever it was she was supposed to be feeling. He brought his own bony hand to hers and squeezed it, still staring at her. "You need to leave." He repeated.

 

A shower. A shower would help ease it. he always felt so oddly at peace in Scottie’s warm shower. As a teenager he spent many hours beneath the boiling trickle of water his flat had to offer; it was a distraction from the horrors his nightlife saw. Scars on his back from the worse burns would never heal but that was okay. They were reminders. that’s what they were designed as. Danny was happy now, underneath the cascading blanket of water, not too hot or too cold. The first time Danny had ever washed himself at Scottie’s was after a particularly bad night.

His then-boyfriend thought he had been cheating. He thought he’d caught him staring at another man. Or that’s what he said. He beat Danny senseless that night. Broken ribs, fractured hands, dislocated joints. One of the walls of Danny’s apartment had fallen partway through from a single punch which, thankfully, missed Danny. He was shaken and battered and had nowhere to turn. Scottie took one look at him, that poor boy beaten black and blue, and opened his arms quite tenderly. He guided Danny up the stairs and showed him to the bathroom where he was left to his own devices. He was so frightened by the gentleness of the temperature that he turned it the full way up. A frightening scream resonated around the house and Scottie rushed to Danny’s care. After that a lock was put on the dial, so that Danny wouldn’t be able to do it again. It was the first of many changes Scottie would make so his dear friend was loved, safe, and perpetually cared for in the house.

A cacophony of colliding pans from downstairs told Danny how much Frances' health had deteriorated but, as always, he wasn't sure wether he cared. Recently he found there wasn't a moment he didn't debate wether he had enough energy for the day, not a time he hadn't thought how much easier it would be to just stay in bed. He carried on, though: for Alex; and for Scottie.  
He was terrified he wouldn't be able to see his friends again. Pavel and Sara were the only people he had in his life now who would be able to help him cope and he couldn't tell them a thing, not because he didn't trust them though, but because if he did, they'd be next. They could be next anyway. He was so trapped, so so scared. Potentially nothing could happen, they could just think he went missing, of course they'd be worried but they'd be okay. They could come visit one day and the American man would see them as a threat and take them away. They could be visited by Danny and get murdered in the process. Something that scared him more though was why it was still going on. Why was he being offered help? Surely it was almost all over now? Why did he still need protection?

A gentle bell sounded downstairs, though it was enough to interrupt him.

He made his way downstairs and answered the door as Frances had decided to go to the garden again.

Upon opening the door a biting cold met his feet and sent a violent shiver up his spine. He shuffled Scottie's old tatty slippers onto his feet which were scratched by the underneath of the front door. He was met by a rather disgruntled looking man  
"Daniel Holt?" A rather official looking man asked.  
"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"  
"Bank rep." He said, surely, forcefully. "I am reclaiming the house."  
"You're a what?" Danny took a step back, partially in shock but mostly just to get away from the cold.

“I’m here to reclaim the house. You have 24 hours to gather your things and leave before we exercise our legal right to reclaim the house by force.”

Danny was anything but steady. “Hah, you’re not seri…” he trailed off in a drunkard manner. Jelly-like legs meant the putty now beneath his feet gave way to him with ease. Then swallowed him completely.

A constant, secondly beep soared past Danny's ears like runners past a spectator. His eyes filled with nothing but coal-tar making it impossible to blink. Distant voices seemed hurried. His name. Someone kept calling his name. He tried to call back but his lungs were heavy, as if filled with water. “Help,” he heard his own voice begging, his own voice but it couldn’t have been, he couldn’t reach it, he couldn’t talk oh his own. He tried to ask where he was but that one word just repeated itself over and over and over. Everything had fallen silent again.

 

Flooding into his eyes now was a piercing, bright light. A cloud of voices shrouded him like a chorus of discordant angels. Slowly they dissipated so that the crowd halved and halved again until only one voice was left. He tried to respond to whatever the voice was saying but it still felt as though he was listening through a pillow.

He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, long, black, curly hair sprouted out of all sides of a skinny, pale face. He relaxed into the hand with ease.

“Danny.” Sara sighed, relived that her friend was not as dead as he appeared. “Danny, we were so scared!” She engulfed him in the warmest hug he’d had in months. “Danny, we thought you… we thought….” She broke from the hug and turned to Pavel, nuzzling into him instead.

Sara’s tatty band t-shirt was partly moth-eaten and thoroughly frayed at the edges. Her jeans were greying and the soles of her shoes fell away from the rest. Pavel was no less tattily dressed; a mud-stained grey jumper was enough to tell Danny that he’d been working extra shifts repairing gutters, with no time to wash the jumper itself; minuscule holes littering the fabric of his sweatpants only confirmed this. But he hadn’t seen Pavel work this hard in a long time.

Pavel put a comforting hand across Sara’s back “We thought you, well, died. We were called by the hospital and were asked to come in. We were so worried you had died but -“ Even he started welling up now but fought back the tears to show a collected man, brave, patriotic. “You’re alive now. That’s what matters.”

 

Before long the raggedy trio were talking again, just like normal. They each shared a few of their most exciting or hilarious adventures from recent times and forgot for a long while that they were even in the hospital at all.

Danny knew not to interrupt the happy moment but he had to ask. “Why am I in here?”

The other two stopped smiling. In fact they stopped nearly everything and just looked skittishly from each other to Danny repeatedly.

“We’re not allowed to say.” Sara stated, trying her best to hide her nerves. She put a hand on Danny’s shoulder again. Despite his anger, the bed-ridden man did his best to appear unaffected.

“Will you stay with us now?” Pavel asked, rather abruptly.

“Why?” Danny was rather perplexed.

“Well, your house…” Sara trailed.

“Shit yeah!” The exclamation was followed by Danny becoming rather glassy-eyed. He received, in no time at all, a very loving hug.

“We can have christmas?” Sara offered, gently. They never had much money, the three of them, and Danny wasn’t sure about christmas this year. He didn’t want the little money his friends had to be spent to frivolously, especially if that meant it was being spent on him. Danny also worried that he himself wouldn’t be able to afford any gifts. He wouldn’t be able to contribute.

“We don’t have to.” Pavel chimed in, realising the difficulty Danny was having to reply.

After a while Pavel revealed he had skived off work to see Danny and he, appalled, forced Pavel to go back, Sara was to protect him.

 

In his room Danny pondered longer on the whereabouts of the present. He was sure he could sneak onto the premises, it wouldn’t be hard. He clutched the valentines-day card, also unread, to his chest, eyes welling up. His bags were already packed, since Scottie's death he found it was easier to just carry his things around with him as his belongings were few. Settling down in the house was never part of the plan. He wondered how much of it was reclaimable by Danny himself. If he figured it out then could he not just ask for the item back? But maybe someone would intercept whatever vehicle would be used to transport the items and steal them?

Oh. He couldn’t risk it. Especially without knowing if there was anything inside it. Stealing it was out of the question, wasn’t it? Maybe.

 

Dinner arrived by the hand of a nurse wielding a battered silver trolley.

“What’s the gruel this evening?” Danny asked, jokily.

“Well, I heard you lost your house, which is of course a terrible business. So, little man, you’ve got something special!” merrily piped the nurse. She brought the trolley to Danny’s bed-side and unveiled a rather hefty looking pile of fish and chips.

“Oh!” Danny smiled, trying to hide his discontent. He never cared much for fish and chips, despite their prestige in Britain. He never understood the hype. And he did not want to eat that much of it. “Ummm…” he tried to decline but the nurse’s face was beaming, so, already feeling bloated, Danny accepted the meal.

 

After making it half-way through the ever-growing mound of food, Danny gave it up. He pushed the cart away a little and sighed, pushing himself into the pillows. He closed his eyes, attempting to sleep; something he knew was already unlikely.

“You’re not very good at this are you?” He heard a familiar, deep, booming voice from the doorway.

“Sleeping? Nah.” Danny smiled.

“We’ve got people who could help, you know.”

“Who has?”

“We do!”

“Yeah I know and like, I mean no disrespect but, who are you referring to?” Danny asked, slightly angrily.

“Oh!” He paused, moving to sit on the bed and putting a hot hand on Danny’s knee. “Son, I can’t tell you.”

Danny cringed at the pet name. He gestured for the card Scottie had left him, it was on top of the dresser, beneath a stack of sweets and the good-well presents gifted to Danny from his flatmates. Thimba happily gave it to him and Danny twiddled it between his fingers.

“So you came.” Danny stated after a while of thinking.

“I did.” Smiled the American man.

“Why?” Danny was genuinely inquisitive.

“You matter to us.”

“Right.” Danny turned away from Thimba and sighed. “And you can’t tell me who that, uh, who that refers to.”

“No.”

“Great!” Danny groaned, flopping into the scratchy pillow at his back.

Thimba removed the card from Danny’s grasp and looked him dead in the eye. “Wehave found something, something strange, at your friend’s house and we need you to take a look. Can you do that for me?”

“I’m allowed to leave?” Danny asked, aghast.

“Yeah, sure. Just without telling the nurses…. or doctors…. and in a disguise.” Thimba joked.

Danny sat up in his bed. “So can I collect the suff my friends brought?” He looked around longingly at the piles of clothing and packets of chocolate dotted around the room. “I can just bring them back to the flat?”

“The flat?” Thimba was startled, “You can’t go back there, oh no! Do you not remember what I said about the situation of the house?”

Danny just stared and shook his head.

“A turtle without its shell…”

“is - Shit is Frances…. she’s alright, she’s alive yeah?”

“You know as much as I do.”

“You threatened me again.”

“Again?”

“What was that about my health, then?”

“My dear boy you must learn the difference between a warning and a threat. Now pack up. We’re leaving tonight.”

 

The quiet rumbling of tyres on the road was the only thing to accompany Danny on his way back.

“You don’t half make a racket.” Danny laughed, addressing the driver. “Where are we going?”

The driver looked from the road to the young man in his back seat and then to the road. Silence.

“Can we have music on?” Asked Danny, trying to find some pass-time which would entertain the pair.

Nothing.

“Okay. Well, can I have a cig?”

Nothing.

Danny stared at the driver for a moment, trying to understand him. There were no quirks, no friendly gestures, almost nothing which would give away any hint toward his personality. The driver’s cockpit was plain, as neat and as clean as the rest of the car, no phone on display, no personal affects. Then his eyes darted to Danny. A great harrowing pair of eyes he had only seen in nightmares and at one other time-

Danny’s phone screen lit up and distracted him for a moment, displaying the simple notification:

‘Unknown Number

‘Message’

“Run.”

He read it over again and again. No one was supposed to have his number, no one was meant to know he had a phone.

A new one popped up:

“Daniel. Run.”

He looked up at once,to see the same face he had seen the night he met his doppelgänger, a menacing smile sewn across his face. A harsh click indicated the doors on either side of Danny locking, as well as the sliding plastic barrier between the driver and his prey. The engine roared and did not struggle despite the car’s sudden swerves and jumps. Danny was jolted into the back of his seat, swaying this way and that and it was all he could do not to throw up. His now-vibrating phone was thrown into the crack between Danny’s seat and his door. Someone was calling? He did not hesitate to reach for it, but could only feel it with the very tips of his fingers, then another corner was made and it flung into the wall dividing the car. Danny lunged for it and answered. He couldn’t hear the voice on the other end. It was muffled. His heart was racing too quickly. His breath was too violent. His hands shook too hard to hold it. For a split second he had believed he heard a very familiar, friendly voice. It couldn’t have been. It just couldn’t.

“Danny. Danny please. Are you there?” It was an oddly calm voice to the untrained ear but to Danny there was so much panic and concern.

He fell weak and was at once against the back of the seat, jolting around like jelly in an earthquake. His eyelids were heavy and his hands were cold. Darkness.

The next moments of his life Danny was aware of, there was no warning for. Terror filled his heart and was pumping through his veins causing a cascading waterfall of tears. Not at any time had there been a more audibly excruciating collision. Tearing metal and smashing bones, it was all a discordant orchestra.

Danny’s eyes opened part of the way. His vision was filled will the site of blood soaked seats, ones which were ripped, ones which weren’t even inside the car. The unmistakable guts of an animal, spread like decorations inside the front half of the car and Danny felt a lump in the back of his throat form.


End file.
